


Rot and Heat

by Willowanderer



Category: Fate/Zero, Fate/stay night (Visual Novel)
Genre: F/M, Necromancy, Self Loathing, dubcon, its not so much that I'm kinkshaming so much as I want to know what the hell is wrong with you
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-01
Updated: 2017-05-01
Packaged: 2018-10-26 02:30:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10777602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Willowanderer/pseuds/Willowanderer
Summary: Vaugely inspired by http://thebestworstidea.tumblr.com/post/70974201651/souryu-san-thebestworstidea,





	Rot and Heat

**Author's Note:**

> Right, normally I don’t judge myself for the fanfic I write, but I am kind of side eyeing myself on this one, because I’ve wanted to write it for a while. and I figured Walpurgisnacht , time for something terrible.  
>  presented as it was written scream stream of consciousness and unbetad

In the aches and whispers of her body, where she was was secondary. With all of the darkness and heat flashing through her, the cool darkness of the vault was almost comforting. It was disgusting and misbegotten. Where she belonged and what she deserved, wasn’t it? Would she stay here, rotting in her own filth with the worms that were part of her and her darkness.

That there were bones here was unsurprising. But one skeleton was left where it had fallen, close against the wall of the stairs; almost out of sight. It resonated with repressed screams, and clung to a magic deep inside of it, that should have been long ago devoured with the flesh that cloaked it. Rage, and sorrow and power. Faintly she remembered these bones and a kind and weary voice.

Another man who had tried to protect her and failed. Why?

Surely she was worthless; tainted and evil. Death and darkness and rot.

He was a fool.

Yes…

A foolish spirit that clung to his bones like a fog of failure. Death and darkness and rot.

The writhing worms parted at her feet as she drifted across the floor, even they disdained her now, even as they bent to her will, even as she was filled with power they craved and feared.

The bones didn’t glisten in the pulsing red light of the magic. They were dull and rotted with patina of darkness and rot on them. Faintly she wondered, what would he think of her now? This man who had once given everything for the chance to save her? Would he turn from her? Or hold her until the burning that consumed her abated?

Oh she wanted that, for someone to touch her, for someone to touch. She exhaled a long breath and knelt, straddling the barren pelvis, hands framing the twisted shoulders, and lowered herself under her lips almost touched the teeth, pressed together strangely as if holding in the screams even in death. She felt the darkness and magic in her resonate and she breathed in through her nose, filling her lungs with rot and damp. The darkness writhed out from her in waves, striking and draining those foul worms that had had their way with her so long.

At last she exhaled through pursed lips, it going on and on and gaining form and shadow. The bones beneath her gained substance and form, not much, he had been a lanky man, even before he had been ravaged like her by the twisting filth of the sorcery the Matous called theirs, and a pulse faint and sluggish started, in time with their undulations. White skin covered in scars, wiry with tendon and muscle, skin waxy and hot at the same time, as her lips now touched another pair, thin and dry until the touch of her tongue.

His eyes opened up to see her, dark and clouded with cataracts alike, and she drew back to almost admire her work, at this man spun of darkness rage and sorrow, a soul pulled back into consciousness in the world it had clung to. To her she realized, for this man was hers, even before she had recreated him, and dressed old bones in his image, and the scraps of clothes that had survived the years since his death.

“Sakura-chan” he breathed and it tickled down her spine, almost like a sensation itself, as his fingers spasmed against the flesh of her thigh. Her fingers covered his lips and she almost smiled.

“Do you love me?” she asked, voice faintly empty, but teasing. “Do you still wish to save me?”

Though he recognized her, he was still bewildered, Eyes devouring her face like finding water unexpected in the desert. “Do you want to be mine? For me to be yours?” Oh her flesh burned with desire to touch and be touched, and this man was as filthy and discarded as she, another knot in the twisted filth that was her being. His eyes blinked, confused but glistening as if with tears unshed.

But beneath her touch his lips moved, his flesh moved, his fingers clung to the trailing edges of her skirt and to her thigh with a death grip.

She knew what he said, though he could barely form words. He was the same as her, and whatever she needed he would be. As long as he could. He understood. He’d felt the anger, the pain, but not quite all her despair, he would share it in time. Her face lowered again, fingers parting, parting his lips as she kissed him again.

In the darkness of ruin and rot, heat was joined and satisfied.

This was all they deserved.

Wasn’t it?


End file.
